


...but not unwelcome.

by soubrette



Series: (b)romance, break-ins, and banter [2]
Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Insomnia, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sleepovers, Snacks & Snack Food, Watching Someone Sleep, and i mean very light and very brief, brief mentions of death, we're getting there folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubrette/pseuds/soubrette
Summary: The secret's out, and it's time for... late night/early morning superhero supermarket runs?Will Petereverget to sleep?More of the playful banter you know and love, now with additional feelings.Sequel toUninvited.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: (b)romance, break-ins, and banter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829323
Comments: 21
Kudos: 199





	...but not unwelcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Back by popular demand! And by “popular demand,” I mean one person said they hoped there’d be a part two, and apparently I just reeeally aim to please. I’ve also planned a series of connected one-shots in this universe, mostly tied together by how their relationship develops. It’ll be a bit of a slow-burn, though… so have patience :)
> 
> Let’s get to it!

“So uhh… what now?” Peter asked, still sitting on the counter.

Wade slammed the cereal box down in surprise, spilling some of its contents onto the cheap linoleum floor “What, are we _still_ here?”

Peter’s eyebrows scrunched toward each other. “Um. Where… where else would we be, exactly?”

“These sell-outs and their damn sequels, I’m telling you… no original ideas anymore…” Wade left the kitchen, not bothering to explain his frustration in any way useful, so Peter decided it was a subject best left alone. Sometimes Wade said things that didn’t make sense. It was a fact of life, and Peter was pretty used to it by now.

He followed him into the living room and asked, “Should we get, like, snacks or something?”

Wade stopped and turned around, looking confused. “Snacks?”

“Yeah, you know, food, usually of the junk variety, easy to eat in small quantities, pretty common thing to have when company comes over.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a sec. Company?” Wade laughed, “Company as in… _me?_ I broke into your apartment, Webs, I don’t think I count.”

Peter shrugged. “Well, you’re here, and we’re friends, so… might as well make it worthwhile?”

Wade’s eyes went wide as he held a hand to his heart. “Oh, _Spidey_ ,” he said in a sickeningly sweet tone, slinking closer to be as overtly suggestive as possible. “I can worth your while anytime. You need only ask.” He even threw in a wink for the full effect.

Peter sighed and shook his head. “Okay, one: that doesn’t even make sense. Two: stop it.”

Wade dropped the act, replacing it with pure enthusiasm. “But I can totally stay the night, right? That’s the general vibe I’m getting from you right now.”

“I didn’t say--”

He grabbed Peter’s arm and proceeded to jump up and down in excitement, chanting, “Sleepover! Sleepover! Slee--”

“Okay!” Peter extracted his arm from Wade’s vice-grip. “Fine, yes, you can stay. But we’ll definitely need more food. Plus, I think some fresh air would be good right about now. This has been… kind of a lot for one night.”

Wade took the hint, changing gears with impressive speed. He hesitated, seemingly unsure whether he wanted to know the answer to his next question. “Do you, um… You don’t regret telling me your secret, do you?” He looked just about ready to bolt, as though disappearing from Peter’s life could somehow erase that particular memory and make everything okay again.

“No, I… No. I don’t regret it at all. We _are_ friends, even if I don’t act like it sometimes. I should have told you sooner, really. It’s just always kind of a tough thing for me, even when I know it’s the right choice.” Peter finally caught Wade’s eye and held his gaze. “But I trust you, Wade.”

“Oh, okay, cool. Nifty. Neat-o…” Wade replied, looking at the floor now and nodding for much longer than was strictly necessary. He looked back up at Peter with a smile. “And if it makes you feel better, this is also really tough for me, because honestly, I’m trying really hard to not be a total creep here, but I mean, _look_ at you. Damn. I almost feel bad for flirting with you, you’re so out of my league.”

Peter snorted, ducking his head to hide the faint blush creeping across his face. “So does that mean you’ll stop, then?”

“I did say ‘almost.’ A guy can dream, can’t he?”

* * *

“So… what was that thing you said earlier about snacks? And small quantities?” Wade asked, feigning innocence. They were strolling down a supermarket aisle in full suits and masks at 4:30 A.M. because Wade wasn’t big on showing his face in public, and Peter Parker probably wasn’t supposed to be a close personal friend of Deadpool’s. Only a few tourists even bothered to look at them as Spider-Man pushed a nearly overflowing shopping cart.

“Shut up,” Peter hissed. “I have a fast metabolism. And I need to stress-eat. _And_ this is your fault. I mean seriously, Funyuns?” He pulled them out of the cart with disdain, threatening to abandon them on a nearby shelf.

Wade scoffed, snatching them back like an overprotective parent. “They are a delicacy!”

“Right, okay. I’m just _saying_ we wouldn’t have this problem if you’d just set yourself some standards.”

Peter had barely finished speaking when Wade dropped the Funyuns and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him close. “Now you listen here, bug-boy,” he spat, “You can insult just about any aspect of my personality, appearance, or life choices, but _snacks are sacred,_ and my tastes are impeccable.” He let go, took a step back, and reassumed his usual carefree attitude, trailing behind as Peter shook his head and started moving toward the check-out. “Also, how in the fucking heck does the weirdo who thinks Hot Cheetos are better than Hot Fries even have a say in this conversation?”

Peter laughed. “Fine, we’ll buy the whole store. But you’re paying.”

“Do I look like I’m made of money?” Wade said, pulling a large roll of large bills from one of his suit’s many pouches.

Peter glanced behind him to see Wade counting the wad of cash. “Apparently… yes?” He continued making a bee-line for the front.

“Well. This is the last of my savings, so I might need to revisit that prostitution idea.”

Peter didn’t even turn around. “Wade, that’s illegal.”

“So is physical assault, but I don’t see you having any qualms about _that_.”

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, the metal cart shrieking from the strain of stopping so much weight so abruptly. “Are you really comparing being Spider-Man to being a prostitute?”

“Noooo… of course not. Not in the slightest. Not me. Nope. Never. But I’d like to personally thank _you_ for making that connection.” The smile in Wade’s voice was audible as he sashayed past Peter to greet the first available cashier.

* * *

There were some aspects of living a double life that no one ever really talked about. Like having to sneak out of your own apartment. Or, more importantly, having to sneak back _in_ while carrying far more bulk than usual. Peter was no stranger to using the window, of course, but doing so with Deadpool and a few weeks’ worth of food in tow was a whole other story. It wasn’t the weight that presented an issue (his spider-strength could handle much more), but rather the volume. Both the extra mass _and_ the extra noise made by his extra passenger were really getting in the way of the whole stealth thing.

“Ahh… I remember the first time I broke into this apartment,” Wade said, much louder than necessary, given that his face was right next to Peter’s ear. He was still wrapped around his torso like an extremely talkative backpack, as Spider-Man attempted to maneuver the tiny window open without losing any of the plastic bags dangling from his forearms. “Feels like it was just yesterday…”

Peter sighed. “It was a few hours ago. Now take one of these bags before I decide to drop you, instead.”

“Woah. Pushy. You in a hurry or something? No wonder you’re always so high-strung. Maybe you should learn to _appreciate_ a peaceful moment between friends. Life is about the journey, not the destination.”

“Your destination is about thirty stories down if you’d like to get off now.” He jerked his shoulder back suddenly, forcing Wade to hold on a bit tighter to avoid falling to his not-death. Then Peter froze, as a new realization dawned on him about thirty stories too late. “Also, if you managed to break in on your own before, why am I even carrying you in the first place?”

Wade hummed in sympathy. “I know what you’re doing, trying to deflect with sarcasm and empty threats and _pointless_ interrogations, but it won’t work. You see, I’m determined to get to the bottom of this problem you seem to be having, this fear of standing still, of being content.”

Peter was starting to lose what little patience he had left. “I would be _content_ if I were _standing_ in my apartment. But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m still stuck to the window.”

“So open it,” Wade said plainly, with just a dash of condescension in his voice.

Behind the mask, Peter’s mouth hung open in sheer exasperation. “That’s what I’ve been _trying_ to do!”

“Shh! Your neighbors will hear you!” Wade whisper-shouted. “Gimme the stuff.”

Peter huffed, but finally passed the bags off to Wade and opened the window, wincing as it creaked loudly from the strain. He shifted to the side so Wade could toss the groceries through, followed by Wade himself, and then (at last) Peter. He left the window wide open, instead tossing his mask to the floor, snatching up the frozen food, and nearly leaping into the kitchen to throw two whole bags of pizza rolls in the oven. He leaned over the slightly grimy stove for a moment, and then… 

“Pop-Tart party!” Wade skipped into the room a moment later, now maskless as well, brandishing the box above his head the same way Peter had previously seen him do with a grenade. Once the pastries were in the toaster, the two began putting away the rest of the groceries. Wade sang a frankly awful rendition of “Build Me Up Buttercup” under his breath as he worked. He obviously didn’t know where things were supposed to go, but the cabinets were mostly empty, so it probably didn’t matter anyway. He had just moved onto “Careless Whisper” (saxophone solo and all) when the toaster popped, interrupting him.

“Oh thank God,” Peter moaned.

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from!”

Peter closed the cabinet and turned around, crossing his arms. “Oh really? Do you take requests?”

Wade held his arms out wide in invitation. “But of _course_.”

“Stop singing.”

“You wound me, Webs.” Wade dropped his arms as they returned to the living room with their food. “Besides, how else am I supposed to win your affections?” 

“Try seducing me with silence,” Peter said, as they sat down on the couch.

It actually seemed to work for a second. Though disappointed, Wade was quiet, almost serious, even. He stared out the window, the perfect picture of sombre contemplation as he chewed his first bite… until the smallest glint of mischief returned to his eyes, and he mumbled, just barely audible and just barely on-pitch, “Hello darkness, my old friend…”

And Peter couldn’t help it. A genuine laugh, deep and unrefined, forced its way out of his lungs, and though he covered his mouth with his hand, it was already too late. He could see on Wade’s face that he knew he’d won.

* * *

About an hour had passed, mostly consisting of Peter having a half-conscious pizza roll binge while Wade wandered around the apartment, touching everything and asking about a million questions about Peter’s “boring, not-superhero life.” Eventually he came back to the couch and attempted a classic yawn-and-stretch move, which prompted Peter to slide all the way to the other armrest without even looking up from his plate.

Wade stole a few of his pizza rolls and asked, “Aren’t you worried all this junk’s going to mess up your flawless spider-physique?”

Peter laughed. “You think I should be?”

“I mean, I know, weird freaky arachni-tabolism, but, like. Do you ever eat any actual food?”

“Ohhh… I get it.”

“Get what?” Wade seemed genuinely perplexed.

Peter smiled, slow and sleepy. “You only like me for my body. Ouch. And here I thought it was my noble character, my natural charm, my brilliant sense of comedic timing--”

Wade tossed a throw pillow at his face. “Oh, come on… you know you’re not _that_ funny. _And_ you know I’d be crazy about you no matter what, so stop fishing for compliments, asshole. I just worry about your health sometimes, that’s all.”

“You worry about _my_ health?” Peter scoffed, setting the pillow on the floor at his feet for safekeeping. “Says the guy who regularly runs straight into gunfire and has a stash of cocaine.”

Wade turned sideways, pulling his legs onto the couch so he could face Peter directly. “Says the guy who rarely sleeps because he feels compelled to swing around on strings all night, fighting supervillains in a onesie that is most definitely _not_ bulletproof.” 

“The suit’s actually two--”

“Says the guy who can actually _die_.” Wade practically cut himself off, clearly not prepared to voice that argument out loud.

In a rare turn of events, both of them were speechless. Peter had no idea how to respond to that. He hadn’t known Wade to be the worrying type. He _certainly_ hadn’t known that the subject of his own mortality was something Wade even thought about. All those times they’d gotten themselves into trouble… _How often does he think about this?_

Then Peter realized how familiar this conversation was starting to feel… and then he laughed, though there was little humor in it now.

“Something funny?” Wade asked, still trying to gauge Peter’s reaction.

Peter shook his head, staring at his knees without really seeing them. “Sorry, it’s just… usually I’m the one who’s worried about people I… people I care about getting hurt. It’s why I wear the mask and everything, except, well. Sometimes even that’s not enough. So now I usually just don’t, um…” He cleared his throat, glancing back at Wade for just a moment before looking away again. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. Trust me, I can handle myself. I’m tougher than I look.” He tried to sound as reassuring as possible, but even he wasn’t convinced.

Wade smiled sadly. “I know you’re strong, Webs. But sometimes you’re also pretty stupid, for a smart guy. Maybe it’s just because I’ve seen your face now, so it’s finally sunk in that you’re just, like, a normal dude? Well, an exceptionally gorgeous-looking normal dude, but your ego’s probably big enough, so pretend I didn’t say that. Anyway, what I’m _trying_ to say is, when we’re out getting our superhero on, for me there’s no real risk. There’s nothing anyone can do that I can’t recover from, and honestly, it’s probably all happened to me before. But with you…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “I-- It’s…” He sighed. “Look, I know you’ve got your spidey-sense and all, but your self-preservation ain’t always so sharp. I just think maybe you could be a little _more_ selfish, sometimes. At least enough to actually take care of yourself.”

Peter was quiet, still avoiding Wade’s eyes. “So… if I promise to eat my vegetables and start flossing, will you feel any better?”

Wade laughed, but it didn’t do much to lighten the mood. “Wow… see if I ever try to talk about my feelings again.”

Peter finally turned to face him. “Sorry. I appreciate the concern.” He held a hand to his heart. “I solemnly swear I will not die.”

“Not ever?” Wade practically had him cornered, physically and figuratively.

Peter shrugged and smiled. “Sure.” He hoped he looked more confident than he felt.

Wade sat back, satisfied for now. “Good. You break that promise, I’ll kill you.”

All at once, the tension broke, and Peter snorted. “I’d like to see you try. Oh, wait, I already have. It turned into a slumber party.”

“GASP!” Wade said, launching himself off the couch. “You know what I just realized!?”

Peter yawned. “You’ll never get another merc job again?” 

“There’s only one bed in this apartment!” Wade said, clearly expecting some kind of reaction to that announcement.

“Yeah…? It’s New York, I live alone… is that a surprise or something?”

“tHeRe’S oNlY oNe BeD,” he repeated.

Peter blinked. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh.” Wade deflated like an abandoned balloon.

Peter stood up and stretched. "Or anywhere on the floor, if that's more comfortable for you."

Wade inhaled and opened his mouth to speak.

Peter cut him off before he got the chance. " _Not_ in my room, Wade."

"Whatever, loser,” he grumbled.

Peter laughed and chucked the pillow back in Wade's general direction. "Creep."

Wade caught it, still pouting, and set it at one end of the couch. He unceremoniously flopped down onto his stomach, face turned to the side and eyes already closed. He was still wearing the suit, but Peter figured it was too late to offer him a change of clothes. He wasn’t even sure he had the energy left to change out of his own red-and-blue spandex. Still… 

“Did you want a blanket or something?”

Wade didn’t open his eyes. “Hush, spider-brat, can’t you see I’m sleeping?”

Peter hummed noncommittally. “You normally talk this much in your sleep?” he asked, crossing the short distance to the hallway linen closet.

“Why don’t you stick around and find out? Heh. Stick. Get it? ‘Cause you stick to walls and stuff…” Wade’s voice was growing softer, muffled by the pillow and the nearness of sleep.

“Wow, I’ve _never_ heard that one before.” Peter returned to the couch with a sweater-knit throw draped over one arm.

“’Sssno worse than any of your awful puns.”

Peter smiled. “The puns aren’t supposed to be good. They’re supposed to incite rage in my enemies.”

“An’ now th’you’re on the receiving end…”

Peter shrugged. “Guess I understand why they all hate me so much.” He tossed the blanket onto Wade’s back, who didn’t move, apparently content to leave it there in a heap.

“Hm,” was Wade’s eloquent response. 

Peter sighed and grabbed the blanket again, this time shaking it out to spread it across him properly. He stood there for a moment longer, not completely sure what he was waiting for. As far as he could tell, Wade was already sound asleep, so eventually he tip-toed back to the bedroom, collapsing into his own bed.

* * *

He really had meant it when he said he’d take better care of himself. But then seconds… minutes… nearly an hour had passed, the sun was up, and Peter felt resigned to the fact that tonight wasn’t the night to start sleeping again. Maybe it was all the processed sugar and caffeine. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush of experiencing a break-in, secret identity reveal, and not-really-attempted-murder all in one night. 

Or maybe it was something else. Like the fact that in a matter of months, Deadpool had somehow gone from being a morally-flexible, dishonest pain in the ass, to being mostly reformed, trustworthy, and-- okay, still definitely a pain in the ass. But also his best friend. His best friend who constantly flirted with him, changed his entire lifestyle to hang out with him, and was now also super concerned about his safety and well-being. And Peter… Peter wasn’t quite as invested, at least not to Wade’s face. Chalk it up to the criminal past, the less-than-impressive first impression, or his own insecurities about forming close relationships, but whatever his excuse was, Peter felt a creeping sense of guilt in realizing that he wasn’t always that great of a friend in return.

 _But that’s because he wants more than that, right?_ he thought. _And I don’t._

_...Right?_

“Dammit,” Peter groaned, rolling over one last time before he pushed himself up off the mattress, wrenched his door open, and practically stomped through the living room. He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and returned to the armchair near Wade’s feet. Despite all the noise, he still seemed to be asleep, having apparently not moved an inch since lying down. Peter couldn’t think of a good reason to wake him, so instead he settled into the chair and studied the unconscious man on his couch. It was almost unsettling to see him so… well, so not like himself. Silent. Relaxed. Vulnerable.

 _Yikes, who’s the creep now, Parker?_ He took a sip of his water and almost choked when he looked back to find Wade’s eyes very much open… and staring right at him. 

“Wade! I--”

“And you called _me_ the creep!” Wade said, sounding completely alert and not at all like someone who just woke up.

“What-- I don’t--” Peter spluttered, feeling like he’d been caught doing something much worse than sitting in his own living room.

Wade sat up cheerfully. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Um. No…?” Peter felt much more disoriented than Wade looked, which honestly seemed really unfair. _Was he faking it the whole time?_

“Me neither. Wanna watch a movie?” He hopped over to one side of the couch, patting the cushion next to him.

Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, still feeling embarrassed (and now slightly betrayed). He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” 

He moved to sit with Wade, who smiled and wrapped his blanket around both of them. He honestly didn’t even know what film was playing, because by the time Wade had chosen one, Peter was already slumped against his side, head falling to rest on his shoulder. He inhaled the scent of leather and pizza and best friend and _home._

By the time the opening credits began, he was asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading <3


End file.
